


impossible

by epoenine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Crossover, M/M, Police Brutality, the warnings that usually go with Night Vale fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epoenine/pseuds/epoenine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The citizen's name was Enjolras, and he called himself an activist. When he came into this little desert town, he had hopes to change it. Instead, he ended up changing Grantaire.</p>
<p>It started with the writing utensils.</p>
            </blockquote>





	impossible

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Les Miserables or Welcome to Night Vale.  
> You don't need to have listened to Welcome to Night Vale to know what I'm talking about, though it is recommended.  
> Whoa guys it's exactly 666 words

 

There was a new citizen. He had beautiful hair and a beautiful smile and everything about him was perfect. Grantaire hated it.

Except he didn’t, not really. He loved the golden locks and those lips and everything that citizen tried to do for this town. Grantaire mostly loved him, though.

The citizen’s name was Enjolras, and he called himself an activist. When he came into this little desert town, he had hopes to change it. Instead, he ended up changing Grantaire.

It started with the writing utensils.

Enjolras came to Grantaire, fire in his eyes, and demanded that Grantaire notify the citizens of Night Vale of their rights, speaking on his radio show. Grantaire accepted; later that evening repeating all of Enjolras’ rant on how the writing utensils couldn’t just be banned, no one could ban something that was such a necessity.

After coffee discussing the dog park and the hooded figures, it was the angels, arguing during the weather.

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked him, disbelief in his eyes. “They’re real but they don’t exist?”

“That’s just how the way things work here,” Grantaire replied, irritation dripping in his voice.

“And what do you mean mountains aren’t real?” Enjolras questioned, bewildered.

“They just aren’t, I don’t know why you can’t seem to grasp this,” Grantaire shot back.

“I’ve seen them before!” Enjolras countered. “How can you let the government tell you such lies?” Enjolras exclaimed, his head thrown back, a hand over his eyes.

Grantaire tried to explain it further. “That’s how things are. That’s how things work.”

Enjolras silently fumed.

“The weather’s almost over,” Grantaire said before putting his headphones back on.

Lastly, it was the Secret Police they were debating about, over Big Rico’s pizza.

“They dictate everything,” Enjolras complained. “They control every aspect of your lives. How can they do that?”

“It’s how it’s always been,” Grantaire replied, like always.

“We can’t give them that much power, Grantaire,” Enjolras said while Grantaire tried to forget the jolt that went through him when Enjolras said his name.

“There’s nothing else we can do,” Grantaire insisted. “No one will help you rise against the Secret Police.”

“Someone will. Someone’s willing to make a change,” Enjolras said, passion in his voice.

“Nobody will,” said Grantaire.

“What we need,” Enjolras started, “is a protest. To make the people understand what’s at stake.”

“No! You can’t do that, the Secret Police are dangerous,” Grantaire retorted. “You’ll get hurt.”

Enjolras staged a protest two nights after that, and plenty of people showed up. Joly, the pharmacist. Feuilly, the farmer. Bossuet, the barber. Musichetta, the woman to have claimed taken in angels. Even all of the interns went: Marius, Cosette, and Eponine. They were all there, rallying.

Just like Grantaire said, the Secret Police were dangerous. But they were also angry.

It was Intern Cosette came to tell Grantaire about the protest.

After describing, in detail, the things Enjolras had said, Cosette lowered her voice to a somber whisper.

“Has Enjolras called?” Cosette asked.

“No. My phone, it was shut off,” Grantaire replied, reaching for it from the desk. “Why?”

“He’s at the Arby’s,” was all she said.

Grantaire arrived fifteen minutes later.

“Oh, great leader, what revolution are we starting today?” Grantaire mocked, only seeing Enjolras’ silhouette.

Enjolras laughed, his voice hollow. Once Grantaire had gotten closer, he winced.

“You’re injured,” Grantaire said, almost infuriated, while sitting down.

“Only just,” was Enjolras’ quiet reply.

Grantaire was silent, sneaking glances at Enjolras’ bruised face every so often.

“The sky,” Enjolras started. “It’s dark. Even though it should only be sunset, I can see the stars.” Grantaire stayed quiet, eyes locked on his face, examining it now that he had an excuse. “This town is impossible,” Enjolras breathed out, an air of annoyance in his tone. Softer, more fondly, he said, “You’re impossible.”

His hand rested on Grantaire’s knee while Grantaire rested his head on Enjolras’ shoulder, and they watched the lights above the Arby’s for a while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Tell me what you thought. I can be found at prouvairie.tumblr.com or benvolio.co.vu


End file.
